The Case of the Exarmy Doctor
by your-icequeen
Summary: <html><head></head>The real reason that Sherlock hates boredom. S/J. This was my first fic that I wrote for this fandom.</html>


Sherlock is growing bored. It does not take a consulting detective to see the way that the glances with contempt at the still present smiley face on the wall or the way he sulks on the couch.

"Sherlock."

"Humph," is the only reply that John received.

"Here is your tea." John places it on the table, silently hoping that Sherlock will notice it before walking over the coffee table. Grabbing the paper, John sit in what has become his armchair in their

shared living quarters.

Sherlock doesn't even move to glance at the still steaming cup.

"Bored."

"I don't know how. You've dragged me to every petty theft from here to Wales. For Christ's sake, we even investigated a missing dog last week."

This sparks Sherlock from his place on the couch.

"What? The proverbial best friend of man deserves our attention less than the murder of a Duke?"

"That's not what I'm saying, Sherlock, and you know it." John refolds the paper and angrily tosses it onto the other chair. "I am merely pointing out that over the last few weeks you've had had us running everywhere. You've taken cases that I never would have guessed would interest you. So, maybe a day of rest would be a good thing. MAYBE even Sherlock bloody Holmes could enjoy a day off."

Sherlock watches John with growing curiosity, perhaps he does have a case after all. The Case of the Ex-army Doctor.

John awakes to the feeling of being watched. He turns over to find Sherlock standing over him.

"You know, it's really creepy when you do that."

"Get up John. There are things to be done."

"Wha-"

"The day off, we're taking it." Sherlock exclaims, yanking back John's covers.

"Sherlock!" John grabs the covers and pulls them back up to his chest quickly.

"Oh, John. Really." Sherlock says after the quick glimpse of John's morning arousal. He turns and heads towards the stairs. "You have 3 minutes."

John gets dressed and brushes his teeth. When he comes downstairs, Sherlock is already waiting by the door.

"Where are we going?" John asks, pulling the door closed behind him.

" You tell me. The day off was your idea, after all."

"You want me to take you through what I do whenever I am not chasing you around London?"

Sherlock does not even dignify this with an answer.

"Alright, let's go." John starts towards Regent's Park, stopping only to buy himself a cup of coffee. Being a normal Tuesday morning, the park is fairly quiet. John prefers the place like this. He has been known to watch whatever sport may be going on, so he makes his way to Northern Parkland where a few guys are practicing Rugby.

John finds a place to sit down and Sherlock practically throws himself down beside him.

"And?"

"Honestly?"

"Why do you feel the need to answer questions with questions? It's really annoying. Keep up, John. Of course I want an honest answer. I didn't preface it with 'Lie to me.'"

"I people watch."

Sherlock tilts his head and stares at John.

"I sit here and try to figure people out. Apply your methods, if you will."

"I am aware of the term, John. Show me."

"Alright. Take the girl running over there. Former athlete, just out here to try to stay in shape. Judging from her stride I would guess long distance, cross-country, maybe. The limp tells me she's had some injury, paired with the brace I would say a torn meniscus. She probably has been through an arthrotomy procedure." John finishes, feeling proud of himself.

"Obvious, but you are getting better."

John ignores the bored tone that Sherlock uses and grins at the compliment. They sit there for another hour or so keeping in each other's company. John continues to point out a random stranger and

informs Sherlock of his deductions. Sherlock adds to or corrects them, as he sees fit.

As they begin to leave, John thinks of how he rather enjoyed their morning in the park. The little game that he had created for himself was a lot more fun with Sherlock participating too.

Normally, at this point, John would wander back to the flat to verify that Sherlock has not destroyed anything useful, at least, that is the excuse he always gives to himself. However, since they are out together, John decides to go to the cinema. He knows he should not spend the money on such a trivial thing but he is determined to show Sherlock a good time. He tries to ignore how that thought makes him

feel.

John lets Sherlock pick the film, so they spent part of the afternoon watching some German picture that John could not even pronounce much less understand because, of course, Sherlock would choose the one

without subtitles.

After a leisurely dinner (at which both the waiter and the owner implied or directly commented on their date), John leads Sherlock to the local pub that he meets Lestrade at when things are slow. It was no surprise, to John anyway, to find the DI already with a table.

John grabs a pint for himself and a glass of wine for Sherlock.

They talk of life with the brothers Holmes and then when Sherlock is looking bored as ever, they talk of previous cases and how Lestrade is enjoying the lull in the criminal activity.

Eventually, they call it an evening, pay their tab and head back to Baker Street.

John's head is fuzzy when he slumps into his chair. He thinks he probably shouldn't have had that last drink and knows he will regret it in the morning but right now doesn't care. It takes him a few seconds to realize that Sherlock is pacing.

"Keep it up and you're going to make yourself dizzy or wear a hole in the rug." John continues, "I am assuming that today was some sort of experiment and you don't like the results?"

"Boring." Sherlock says either not hearing John's question or ignoring it completely.

"What's boring Sherlock?"

"Your day. There was no adventure."

"Of course there was no adventure, Sherlock. It was a day off!" John quietly says goodbye to his buzz.

"There was no danger, no intrigue."

"There wasn't supposed to be. Short of a row with a chip and pin machine, that is how a day off should go."

"But you like adventure, John. You're practically an addict."

John stares at Sherlock trying to decide what the other man is going on about as he paces and rants, throwing his hands up in the air for further affect.

"Yes, I do like adventure –"

"Yes, I know that." Sherlock interrupts.

"However, I like to occasionally relax too. To do nothing except exist."

Sherlock stops pacing and turns to John. "Stop being an idiot. I said dangerous and you came. It is the only reason you stay."

"Wait, you think that I'm only here because you keep me entertained? That I'm only here for the cases?"

"Of course, what else is there?" Sherlock collapses on the sofa.

John walks over to him and sits on the table, staring at him.

"How can someone so smart, a literal genius, not see that I stay because of you, you git. Not the cases but the way your brain works them out. Not the chasing of the criminals but the joy you have when you catch them. The same joy you have when an experiment works out just the way that you want it to. The way you make me laugh, the way you brought me back from the near death I was living when I came back broken from Afghanistan. The smiles that you give me when I finally do something you deem as clever…" John trails off. He does not need to keep going, though he could.

He takes Sherlock's hands and without ever breaking eye contact lets the continued list pass between them unspoken.

John kisses him lightly on the corner of his mouth, hesitant to continue. When Sherlock does not pull away John closes the gap once more. Their kiss starts out soft and slow. John runs his tongue over Sherlock's bottom lip and raises his hand to the back of the taller man's head.

He is met with Sherlock's own tongue a second later. From there the kiss is no longer hesitant but passionate.

John is surprised when Sherlock pushes his jacket from his shoulders. John tosses it aside and mirrors the movements to remove the other man's coat.

Standing, John leads them up the stairs to his bedroom, even though they have to stop kissing to climb the stairs it is a better option than the disaster that is Sherlock's own bed.

As John shuts the door, there is the dual realization that they are both wearing to many clothes. Sherlock reaches for the woolen jumper but the smaller man bats his hands away.

He undresses Sherlock first. Leaving a trail of kisses and soft bites down his neck and chest as he unbuttons the shirt. Almost no section of alabaster skin is bared without feeling John's silent promise of security.

As John removes the trousers, he becomes aware of Sherlock's burgeoning interest. John licks up the shaft and circles the head with his tongue. He then takes all of Sherlock into his mouth.

John was turned on downstairs when they kissed. He was hard when he undressed Sherlock. Now, listening to the whimpering from the man above him it takes every ounce of his military control to keep from shagging him right then.

He stops and gently pushes Sherlock back onto the bed. John's clothes join the pile of Sherlock's on the floor. He takes the lube from the drawer beside the bed. They kiss again while he crawls between those lean white thighs.

John applies some of the warm liquid onto his fingers and drawls out the kiss as he first pushes one finger and then another into his lover. The dexterity of his surgeons hands does not go amiss as he bends his fingers and Sherlock allows a gasp to escape their kiss.

Sherlock drinks him in hungrily with his eyes as John reaches over to the drawer again, this time returning with a condom. He slips it on and slicks it up with a little more of the lubricant.

"John." Sherlock says just barely above a whisper.

"Sherlock." Is the reply he receives as John Kisses him again, angling himself in at the same time.

Sherlock wraps his legs around John's waist as John begins to slowly move in and out of him.

"Harder, John, please." It is the please that gets him, it always will. John picks up his pace and thrusts into his lover a little harder. With all the want and fantasies he has been carrying around these last few months, John knows he will not be able to last long.

Sherlock moans when John hits his prostate.

"Sherlock, touch yourself." He lightly commands.

Sherlock grabs his erection and John wraps his hand around Sherlocks. John matches the pace of his thrusts with that their hands.

John knows that Sherlock is close by the way that he throws his head back, they way his pace is faltering with his hand and the shudders that are beginning to overtake his body. John knows all this because he is fighting the same reactions.

"Sherlock, look at me." And he does.

They climax together, staring into each other's eyes. Into each other's soul.

After, they lay together. Sherlock comfortably tucked under John's arm with his head on his shoulder, John thinks back to the conversation they had earlier in the evening.

"How could I ever get bored of this?" He strokes the dark curls from the other man's face and kisses his forehead. "Just do me a favor, take the occasional day off, for my sake if nothing else."


End file.
